


mairidh fìor ghràdh gu bràth

by Calenhad



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Fusion, Angst, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Immortal, Immortality, M/M, Pining, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Pre-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Slow Burn, Soulmates, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calenhad/pseuds/Calenhad
Summary: A chance encounter leaves Booker falling head over heels.Literally.The bitch pushed him down a cliff.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastian Le Livre/Original Female Character, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	1. Axe to the face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if you can tell or not but I’m obsessed with Matthias Schoenarts. 
> 
> I’ll apologise for the 1000000000000000th time, I procrastinate terribly. Like, I’ll post one chapter a year I’m so sorry.   
> Hope you enjoy anyway.

Axe to the face.

That was his first death of the day.


	2. Do no evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s 11:39pm, my brain hurts but I had to get this out.
> 
> Completely unedited.
> 
> Enjoy

_Some years earlier.._

He hung there for three days; he was sure this was hell. Suffocating, over and over, he supposed this was his punishment for leading a life filled with sin. A deserters death; he had cowardly hidden amongst the militia to escape prison, a sentence that would have surely seen him locked away for good this time. He had only his family in mind when he’d gotten the idea to don the officers uniform and blend in amongst the other marching men.

Now what would become of his family? Now that he had found himself here in hell, surely they would starve. He could only hope they ended up in a better place than he, that his family would also not suffer for his sins.

He suffocated again.

It was taking longer this time, the ice having built up over his body. His eyes would sometimes burst and bleed after some time. Now he could see other bodies around him, and the legs of another deserter swinging above him.

The was no movement now, anyone left alive had either fled, frozen, starved or met their ends at the hands of the Russians.

They had all been cursed the moment they stepped foot on Russian soil, having greatly underestimated their enemies resolve.

He hoped he would find Napoleon Bonaparte himself down here too.

He thinks perhaps the cold gets him this time.

Upon what he could only assume is his revival, he hears commotion.

With tremendous effort and a modicum of pain, he opens his half frozen lids and sees two figures not far from him, locked in a heated battle.

He can’t discern much, due to the cold haze clouding the air and the fact he may be dying again, but from what he can see he observes with interest and confusion.

The first figure, he learns from the loud battle cry, is a woman of average height. She wields a simple farmers axe in one hand and a small dagger in the other.

Her opponent is a man who is significantly taller than her, than any other man he can recall, save perhaps some Russian brutes he had seen across the battlefield.

He leaps back from the axe only to take a dagger to the knee, buckling slightly.

Surely this means victory for the woman, who swings her axe toward his exposed side.

The axe finds it spot just a fraction after the man grabs her arm. He yowls loudly and pushes her away roughly, staggering back he shockingly removes the axe from his side and throws it with all his strength towards the woman. She barely manages to doge the axe, the blade slightly catching on her shoulder.

He watches on from his noose, death taking ahold of him again.

This time when he awakes he finds the woman hanging from the man, stabbing him repeatedly in the back. The man tries desperately to shield his neck whilst trying to get her off his back. He just manages to snag her jacket and rips her from him, she took a chunk of his back with her.

He’d vomit if he was capable.

The strength of his throw sends her flying into the tree where he hangs, jolting him painfully.

He barely manages a low groan, her eyes flicker up to him in surprise before he dies again.

He thinks he heard her spine break, her legs at an odd angle.

It’s quiet now, and he thinks maybe the two hell-spawn are gone. He can hear a low squelching noise, followed by a grunt.

He cracks his eyes open for what may be the last time and sees the woman again, this time victory is hers. He thinks perhaps he might have been dead a little longer. He can see a crate that almost looks like a coffin but not quite. He can only barely make out a body inside, the tall mans legs bent at odd angles in order to fit him inside the wooden box.

The woman is standing on the other side, so when she gives a hard yank and a loud pop sounds across the field, he can see what she was struggling with.

In her hands, dangling from long dark hair, is the head of the man.

He must make some noise of shock because she looks to him again, though he can’t make out her features.

She throws the head into another smaller box, this one made of solid metal. She shuts the lid and locks it with an key, which she slides into the pocket of her long jacket.

She looks down at the box for a few moments before she picks up the axe and makes her way towards him.

Perhaps she is to be his judge?

His vision is fading again but he can see her swing the axe and cut the rope hanging him. He hears more than feels his legs break when he hits the ground.

It’s an immense relief when he no longer feels the noose choking the life from him.

He opens his eyes and finds he is lying on a plank of wood, a few yards from the tree. A blanket covers him, and he feels slightly less frozen.

He looks to his right and sees a horse drawn cart, if you could call the rickety old thing that. The woman is standing next to the cart, securing the crate down. He can see that she has light brown hair, styled in a fashion he has never seen, with the sides of her head shaved, and metal glints shining in the dim light.

She wears pants and high boots too, with an simple but deadly dagger hanging from her belt.

The woman finishes tying everything down and glances down at him, doing a double take when she sees he has awoken.

She sniffles in the cold and comes to stand above him, her black boot nudged his arm.

“ _You are_ _French_?” She asks him in fluent French. He didn’t know if he was grateful that she wasn’t Russian or fearful that she was French.

He can barely manage a slight movement of his head upwards, but she sees the gesture nonetheless.

“ _Have you had any strange visions Do you see any figures or glimpses of places you’ve never been when you die?_ ” She asks. He is little more than a frozen corpse on the ground and she wants to inquire about his ‘visions’.

He doesn’t know how to answer.

She sighs.

“ _This is real. You are not in hell, not in purgatory, not even heaven if that’s what your idea of heaven might be... all this is real, and I know this is disorientating and I wish I had the time to tell you things but I’m on a tight schedule._ ” She tells him.

He doesn’t know this woman, never met her before and has no reason to believe anything she is telling him but something deep inside of him says he can trust her.

He knows its illogical but he listens to her and takes it all in.

“ _I know you’re scared and confused right now, and I don’t know what you did to end up hanging in that tree but I know you must have some good in you, otherwise you’d be in the box with that man right now_.” She gestures over her shoulder to the body inside the crate.

“ _I’m probably confusing you even more, but all you need to know is that you are still here on Earth, for what purpose you must endeavour to seek out. When your time is done, you will finally meet your peace. However you will die many mortal deaths until that day. The day you die might be ten days from now or in a thousand years, or perhaps more._ ” She bent to study him, though his eyes were glassy from fear he couldn’t make out any defining features. He could smell wheat and smoke, wet stone and old bark on her, an earthy scent.

“ _You are undead. Like I am. If you lead a good life you will one day die a good death. There are others like us. You will find them and they will find you_.” She reached a hand out and tentatively ran a finger down his cheek.

It felt like fire.

“ _There are only two rules to this life: don’t get caught and don’t use your power for evil, unless you want to end up in a crate too_.” She informed him. She took the blanket off him, and stood once again. Her head turned to face away from him, his mind buzzing.

“ _The Russians are coming. Which means it time for us to part ways._ ” She said.

She gathered up her bag and threw it in the back of the cart, before she came back over to him. She bent down and with some effort, she managed to get her hands under his arms and heaved him across the frozen ground.

She was stronger than she looked.

“ _Your old life is over. When you wake up, go to a place where no one knows your name. Perhaps travel to the colonies in America or Canada, a Frenchman should fit right in there._ ” She informed him as she dragged him past the tree, where he could see three others dangling there, truly dead.

His mind thought only of his family, panic settling in when he realised where she was taking him; only a short distance from the tree was a large cliff. He knew it was a long drop becauss some men had thrown themselves from it to escape the noose, and even some in the following days deciding to end their lives on their own terms instead being captured by the Russians.

It had taken twenty seconds to hear the echoes of the bodies hitting the ground below.

She looked down to him hummed quietly as she dragged him.

“ _I apologise for what comes next, but I absolutely cannot leave you to the Russians and this is the quickest choice. You will survive the fall. You won’t feel a thing and hopefully you heal fully before you wake up. It takes a while the first few months but it gets quicker as times passes...though sometimes you can come to before you’re finished healing which can be unpleasant._ ” At last she dropped him at the edge of the cliff. She pulled something from her pockets and tucked it into his pants pocket.

“ _Some food and a little water will help with the hunger and get you going long enough to get out of this wretched cold._ ” She patted his chest and hesitated a moment.

“ _I am sorry I cannot take you with me, but this is my burden alone. I wish you all the best in the years to come. Join the others, when they find you. It’s not easy to go through this alone._ ” She said softly.

Fear coursed through his body, the icy air burned at his lungs. A warm hand settled in his hair and she ran her fingers through it.

She said something in another language which he couldn’t place, before she began to sing softly.

Despite the horror of the situation, he felt oddly calm. He focused on her hand, the ice had begun to melt from his face and he could make out a pair of slate grey eyes boring into his own.

He could hear the coarse Russian shouts growing louder

“ _Remember; do not get caught and do no evil._ ”

She said, her voice was soft.

With that, she pushed him off the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think please


	3. Sour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another random chapter. The inspiration suddenly struck me. I have yet to edit this so please feel free to point anything out.

He survived the fall, though a part of him knew he would.

She was a perfect stranger, with every reason to lie to him if she wished, but he found that he believed her words.

He was indeed, alive. He ate the food which seemed to give him the energy he needed to move, the more he moved the less frozen he became, although he was still chilled through and through.

He took small sips of the water, it burned ice cold down his throat but it helped. He had a general idea of which direction to head in, and he was constantly on the lookout for both the Russians and the French; he didn’t want to take his chances with either.

It took a long time to escape the winters grasp of the foreign land, he often succumbed to the elements while he slept several times a night, and he rarely felt refreshed when the sun rose.

After what must have been weeks he was finally free of the grasp of the military; he was unsure of his status - did his family know he was dead? Was he declared missing or killed in action? Or had word reached his family of his treason?

He hesitated. What is his family were dead? What if they had already moved on or perhaps moved from their small apartment all together and fled the country? He decided that perhaps he would watch them from afar to see if they were alright. He didn’t like the thought of bringing shame to his family.

This is what he told himself as he watched his family for three days, following his children from afar and watching his wife from behind the newspaper.

He rejoined his family in the end, telling himself it would all work out as his wife wept in his arm and his children hugged him close.

Life was somewhat blissful for a year, his family never noticed that he did in fact scald his hand when boiling water splashed onto him. Or the time he stood on a piece of glass barefoot when his wife dropped a vase.

He did not like to lie to his family, and wondered how long he could keep it up.

One morning, on his way back to the house with flowers he had stolen from the window of a shop to give to his wife, he was stabbed and mugged but three young scoundrels. Not that he had anything of value on him. They seemed to stab him out of frustration. He noticed with a frown that they had trampled the flowers. The floral scent swirled around him, mixing with the copper tang of his blood.

This time he saw it; the visions the woman asked him about. There were three people, an unnervingly tall woman who had an ancient glint in her eye, the other two were men who held hands, smiling warmly at each other.

He wasn’t sure how long he was in that alley for, but thankfully he was alone when he awoke, his clothes soaked in blood.

He couldn’t return home in his state, and he hurriedly peeled himself on the cobbled ground and looked down in horror; so much blood trailed down the stones leading into a drain. He looked around nervously and decided to stick to the black alleys, pulling his black coat closer in an effort to hide most of the blood.

He sneaks into the backyard of a nearby house and washes himself in a trough out the back and as quickly and as quietly as he can. He snatches clean clothes from the line and buried his blood soaked ones behind the woodshed. He climbs the fence and leaves the area.

He gets home, his wife smiles and he waits for her to go to bed before he pours himself a drink.

He finds out his tolerance is higher than what it used to be and can only sigh.

They find him after a year, and several close calls later.

They warned him what would happen if he decided to remain with his family.

A part of him wanted to join them, a sense of familiarity and belonging washed over him; he desperately wished to not be alone in this curse. From the way they spoke, especially the woman -who insisted on being called Andy - they appeared to believe they were the only ones of their kind. He decided to keep his encounter with his saviour to himself, not entirely sure that she was real, the only proof of her existence was a small metallic flask he kept tucked away under the floorboards.

Andy warned him their love would turn sour, but he had unwavering faith in his family.

He watched as his family aged, they looked at him with curiosity at first, and wonder. Then as the years went by and they grew older still, their looks turned suspicious and their desperation was clear in their eyes.

He wept over their pleas, his wife begging him to share his secret, to bestow his gift upon her and the children. If only they knew it was no gift.

He felt the last of his heart turn to ash when his youngest son died, cursing his name all the way to the grave.

He spent the next six months trying to find death, wandering the many streets of the many towns and cities in France.

He could not find it at the bottom of copious bottles.

No drug ever lasted long enough before he died.

He tried many different types of guns.

Died coughing up the blood of his guts as the poison worked its way through his system.

He was stabbed, set on fire, squashed and blown up.

Drowned, starved, froze and overheated.

He though about hanging himself, sitting in an old chair in a shitty apartment in the heart of Paris, looking up at the noose above him. His mind wandered to his first death and the events that followed.

That’s when he hears a knock at his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) hope you enjoyed.


	4. Purpose

She was exactly the same as he remembered. 

With the light brown hair, shaved sides and metal trinkets weaved throughout. 

She was a head shorter than him, her shoulders as wide as her hips, standing there before him on strong legs. She wasn't mannish, despite the thick trousers and coat she wore over her muscles frame, her hair barely tucked under her cap. Her curves were evident; from her waist and her bust to the gentle curve of her cheeks, to her round hazel green eyes, set on her oval shaped face. There was a look to her, however, which suggested that she were best to be avoided if you were to pass her on the street. 

She had high cheekbones and thin mouth, her skin a shade darker than his own. 

Upon first glance, she was perfectly plain.

However there was something there, that exuded...a powerful attraction - and not just in the physical sense. 

She had been studying him from the moment he opened the door, taking in his dishelved state, though her face remained impassive. 

He felt like a little boy about to be scolded by his elder. 

Which is exactly what she did. 

"Are you quite finished?" She asked him, her head tilted to the side. He stepped aside to let her in, glancing warily around the alleyway before hastily shutting the door. She walked in and observed the conditions he'd been living in. None of it seemed to surprise her. 

"Finished with what?" He asked, baffled, though he had a multitude of questions. 

"Trying to kill yourself." She said nonchalantly, nudging the rope with her foot. 

He stood there, at a loss for words. She looked at him expectantly. 

He shook his head in confusion. 

" _Who are you?_ " He asked. She regarded him for a moment, but he bombarded her with more questions. 

"Why did you push me off that cliff? Did you do this to me? How did you know about the others? Are you the same as me? What are we?" His mouth and mind ran a mile a minute and she moved to him them, clasping his shoulders with her strong hands.

"Deep breaths, Booker. Slow and steady." She said. His head swam slightly but he did as she said. 

"How...do you know my name." He asked, between breaths. 

She sighed. 

"There are some things I can explain to you, and other things I cannot..." She trailer off, watching him as he got himself under control. 

"Right now, I'm here to tell you that no matter how hard you try, you cannot die. This will only end when the universe wills it to end, or whenever force it is that binds us to this earth decided to let us go."

She explained. Booker straightened himself out and leaned back against the wall. 

She watched him process the information.

They stood in silence for a moment. 

"Do you know what it is? Is it a curse? It it divine punishment?" He asked, voice breaking. 

"You have a decision to make, Booker." She told him, fiddling with a silver ring on her right hand. It was the first time he had really seen any emotion from her. 

"If you come with me, I can answer some of your questions, but whatever is said between us you must vow to keep to yourself - forever. You may never tell another living soul; the repercussions will be severe if you do." 

"Go with you where?" He asked. "I don't even know who you are. There's so much I don't know." He said, exasperated. 

"If you don't come with me, then I suggest you go and find the others. They'll be waiting for you, and they won't be waiting for long. Your union is inevitable, but they'll give you time." She said. 

"They never mentioned you...but they talked about the dreams...it's how they found me. Do they know you?" He asked. 

Again she twisted the ring, a sign of nerves. 

"All I can say is, I cannot let you remain in this dump, attempting suicide day in and day out. You either leave with me...or go to them." She offered. 

She gave nothing away. 

Booker frowned at her.

"Why are you doing this? Why only those two choices." 

She opened the door then, the cool air making him shudder at the memories it bought with it. He hated the cold now. 

She stood to the right of the door, in the narrow alleyway, but she made no move to leave. 

"You may die tomorrow, for good, or perhaps you may live for a hundred years before you meet your end." She explained, burrowing down into the thick warmth of her coat, her breath visible. 

"Though you may end up like Andy, living on and on, for thousands of years and through the ages with no end in sight. It's a long time to spend alone, Booker. Even longer still, to live without a purpose." She said softly. 

_Thousands of years old._ Andromache - Andy - had alluded to being older than the others, but he had not thought of _thousands_ of years. 

He noted that she also knew of Andy, and he supposed of Joe and Nicky. Were the more? Andy had said they were the only ones - for now. Yet the woman before him seemed to know much, and despite his best efforts, his curiosity burned inside him. Instead, he asked;

"Purpose?" 

She nodded. "Life goes on, the world keeps moving forward. People keep discovering new things and inventing new devices in the pursuit of the future." She explained, her eyes alight.

"Purpose gives meaning to life." She said firmly. 

She looked him in the eye, a challenge glinting in their depths. 

"What will your purpose be, Sebastien?"

A step in her direction was his answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so critical of my own writing so I have no idea if this is any good or not. I have serious doubts frequently if I'm any good at writing or not. Please leave helpful feedback or suggestions. 
> 
> I feel as though this chapter is way too dialogue heavy, and I aim to make the next chapter a little more descriptive. 
> 
> I've got a vague idea of where I want this fic to go, but for the list part I'll be tagging along on this journey with you!
> 
> Also it's unedited. As is most of my work.


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